


Crossroads

by jessamurphy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Drawing, Dreams, Drinking, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mentions of events of season 04, Partying, Post-Season/Series 03, University, gun mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 19:51:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12327711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessamurphy/pseuds/jessamurphy
Summary: When Jasper Jordan first meets Monty Green, his world stops, and another starts turning. It’s a subtlety that first goes unnoticed: a hitch in his breath, a heartbeat too few or too many. There are no dreams, no distortion in his reality, but it feels as if the ground has shifted under his feet. A few inches. A change, but not quite.-“Jasper Jordan,” he formally introduces himself, barely whispering. Monty takes his hand, shakes it. His grip his firm but his palm is soft, a contradiction so natural Jasper doesn’t stop to think about it.“Monty Green,” the boy says, “nice to meet you.”And then there’s the weirdest thing happening. Jasper sees them both older and younger than they’ll ever be; hears gunshots and fireworks, feels suns burn and rain pour. There’s a smile, and then there’s a laugh. There’s nothing noticeable about the interaction to the peers around them, but there it is: one inch of ground moving. A world spinning. In a day, it feels like they have known each other for weeks, and in a week, it feels like they have known each other for months. As if they’ve always been Monty-and-Jasper. As if they’ve known each other all their lives.





	Crossroads

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thomasnewtminho29](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thomasnewtminho29/gifts).



> So it's been a while- this has been lying around since I think march, april, sometime around there, and I was working on it quite splendidly until- episode 11 happened. Needless to say, I got kinda- stuck.
> 
> anyhow, I wanted to try something completely different. This is more or less experimentally and I am really curious about what you think of it, whether I pulled it off or not. I do think it makes a lot more sense to read this with the thought in mind that there are two co-existing realities between which is switched, so I hope that helps!
> 
> originally, this was intended to be longer with more flashbacks to other moments from the seasons, but I felt like that would be too much. I'd love to hear if I made the right choice here, so leave your thoughts in the comments!

When Jasper Jordan first meets Monty Green, his world stops, and another starts turning. It’s a subtlety that first goes unnoticed: a hitch in his breath, a heartbeat too few or too many. There are no dreams, no distortion in his reality, but it feels as if the ground has shifted under his feet. A few inches. A change, but not quite.  


* * *

 

Jasper meets Monty in high school. There’s something about him that draws Jasper to him, maybe a look or a gleam or a smile. There’s a tug in his stomach. Standing in the doorway of the Geography room it feels as if a lifetime passes. Their eyes lock. They smile, but they do not notice that they do. Jasper walks up to the boy, who’s sitting somewhere halfway the classroom, next to the windows, turned to face the map on the wall. Jasper takes a look at the map, inspects it. There’s nothing particular about it, it’s a decent map with vibrant colours, nothing he hasn’t seen before. For a brief moment Jasper wonders if he should say something, but then mr. Kane clears his throat and starts the role call.  
“Green, Monty,” Kane calls after a few other names, and Jasper sees the boy next to him perk up. He looks as the boy straightens his back before answering. The voice sounds familiar, and Jasper thinks he might’ve heard it before. He has no particular memory of encountering the boy before; maybe he’s been part of a talent show of sorts, or maybe he just has a very generic voice. The boy.

Monty. 

Jasper scans the boy again and relaxes. Monty turns to him, feeling the pair of eyes on him. He kindly smiles, and Jasper flashes a smile without even thinking about it.   
  
“Jordan, Jasper?” Kane calls, sounding a bit confused. He repeats himself. “Jordan, Jasper? Jaspers, Jordan?” He frowns at the paper.

“Here,” Jasper hastily replies, waving his hand in the air. “It’s Jasper.”  
  
“Oh,” Kane raises his eyebrows, frowns again, then shakes his head. Monty is now looking at Jasper in return, so Jasper turns to look at him, stretching out his hand.  
  
“Jasper Jordan,” he formally introduces himself, barely whispering. Monty takes his hand, shakes it. His grip his firm but his palm is soft, a contradiction so natural Jasper doesn’t stop to think about it.  
  
“Monty Green,” the boy says, “nice to meet you, sir.”

And then there’s the weirdest thing happening. Jasper sees them both older and younger than they’ll ever be; hears gunshots and fireworks, feels suns burn and rain pour. There’s a smile, and then there’s a laugh. There’s nothing noticeable about the interaction to the peers around them, but there it is: one inch of ground moving. A world spinning. In a day, it feels like they have known each other for weeks, and in a week, it feels like they have known each other for months. As if they’ve always been Monty-and-Jasper. As if they’ve known each other all their lives. 

 

It is like Monty is meeting Jasper all over again, watching him walk into the classroom, yet knowing they will go to the end of the world together. There’s something about his posture he hadn’t noticed before, the slump in his shoulders, a nervous tremble. Yet he radiates confidence as they walk towards their execution. It isn’t long before they are separated, before Jasper is obliged to take another class, one without Monty in it. They cause too much havoc, and it isn’t like that hasn’t happened before- as if they haven’t always been this way. Jasper-and-Monty. Ride or die. Of course they would be separated. There’s an itch under his skin as he walks the hallway, as he hears his steps echo. Jasper is nowhere to be found, but Monty knows they’ll find each other again, in the heavens or on earth. It’s the way they’ll always be.

 

Jasper has always been an artist, even if he doesn’t consider himself to be. Apart from his parents, Monty’s probably the first to call him just that. He watches as Jasper idly doodles in his notebook, all but engaged with the story Pike is telling. Monty can feel his mind slip as Pike drawls on. It’s not entirely like him to disengage, but he sometimes can’t help it. Sometimes it’s just something as small as a bird, the rustling of leaves- a sound he couldn’t really hear but still imagines-, or the world ending. From time to time he sees the bombs drop, imagines the scorching earth, feels the fire. And then he blinks, and it’s all gone. It’s all imaginary, anyway. But the world isn’t ending today, and outside nothing’s happening either, so Monty just watches. Watches the lanky boy sitting next to him doodle, hair something past buzzcut, frame bent. Watches how Jasper’s tongue slips past his lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Watches the lines of ink appear on the paper, blots and splotches, squares and triangles, all shapes and figures. A new world appears in front of his eyes, one he faintly recognizes but refuses to acknowledge. Monty wants to ask, wants to ask what it is that Jasper’s drawing, how long he’s been drawing, _how_. But he doesn’t.  
  
There’s this girl walking into class the next day, and she notices, not in the way Monty notices- she doesn’t notice the muscles flex or the deep concentration, she only notices what’s there, what’s being _created_. Asks him if he’s in art class, and Monty can’t help to feel this tinge of jealousy, because there’s Jasper, looking up, eyes big, confusion written all over his face. The girl introduces herself as Clarke, hair in a messy ponytail, eyes curious. She tells them she’s in art class, and that Jasper’s making technically advanced art. Jasper blinks, slowly looks at Monty, then at the paper. To him it’s nothing but a mirror of his nightmares. The planet’s dying.  
  
“Oh,” he says, blinking again, then nodding, “yeah, okay. I’ll think about it.”  
  
And he does. Even when Monty doesn’t immediately take to Clarke, he has to admit she has a point. Jasper should be in art class. So he tells him so. They’re sitting in the sun, an hour between classes. Jasper watches as the sun hits Monty just right, and he wishes he could capture the moment. So he asks. Asks Monty if it’s okay to draw him. Taken aback Monty nods. It’s a comfortable silence they share, nothing but the setting summer surrounding them. Monty closes his eyes, feels a wave of calm washing over him. He imagines the rays hitting his skin for the first time, feeling the warmth of the sun as a new sensation. His imagination is so vivid it almost makes his skin crawl. A forest surrounds him, easily imposing. He can imagine Jasper, Clarke, and some other kids he doesn’t recognize, yet in that moment seem familiar. He can breathe the air, can smell the trees and the hint of rain. There’s a breeze slipping past, and he shivers.  
  
“Are you cold?” Jasper asks, already taking off his hoodie. Monty doesn’t want to admit he is, so he stays silent. Jasper takes this silence as a confirmation, wraps the hoodie around him.  
  
“Don’t want to have you freezing,” he smiles, somewhat wearily, watching the hoodie morph into an orange tinted blanket and back. He feels slightly disturbed, but doesn’t comment. He’s just tired. Monty watches as the black hoodie changes gradually into a shade of sunset that’s rare, then like a chameleon, between the blink of an eye, it’s changed back again. He frowns. Weird.  
He must be tired.

  

There is this party Finn invites Jasper and Monty to. This party is thrown to celebrate finishing their finals, finishing high school, graduating, the whole sh’bang. Jasper doesn’t expect it to be big, but he is sorely mistaken. He can hear the party from miles away, sees the cars parked around the house, hears the laughter. He parks his bike somewhere near the porch, against the white picket fence surrounding Finn’s house. The grass is green, even in the slumber of the early summer sun. The sky lights up golden, and it almost feels endless. The world might never end, Jasper muses as he puts a lock on his bike. How strange it would be to live in a universe where the world has ended. He can’t really imagine what that would be like. People would probably have died out by then. It’s both soothing and terrifying to think that the universe will just go on, that all universes will go on, that humans are nothing but ants to the stars. Jasper shakes his head. Tonight they will be celebrating. He idly wonders why he hasn’t waited for Monty, who’s now at work and will be attending the party later. He could’ve just as easily waited at his own house, watch some tv with his parents, walked the dog of mrs. Lane next door. He could’ve waited a lifetime and still would be waiting, but Finn had urged him to come earlier, to loosen up and have some fun.  
  
“No need to waste a perfect night,” he’d said as he handed out the invitation. Monty had nodded in agreement. “There’ll be plenty of people.”  
  
Jasper finds himself breathing in, slightly nervous. At home, he walked through all the breathing exercises, making sure he had memorized them completely. He’d made a list of things to do when it’d all get too much, just in case. He liked to be prepared in social situations like this. According to his mother, it was the left-overs of her social anxiety. Jasper doesn’t know how much of that is true, but his mother taught him to recognize impending panic attacks, and what to do about them, for which he is grateful. More than once this knowledge has helped him help others.  
  
“Okay,” he mutters to himself. Clarke passes him, laughing, saying a quick hello. He follows her inside, where the music gradually gets louder. It is weird to think that it’s the first time he enters Finn’s house, and at the same time probably the last.  
  
Jasper and Finn have been friends for some time. Jasper might’ve been around twelve when he first ran into the other boy, who had his hair tied back in a short ponytail. They were both running across the hallway, racing to get to their first class on time. Jasper, then being shorter than Finn, had fallen on the ground with an ‘oompf’. Finn immediately apologized, taking his hand and hauling him up to his feet. It had been an almost comical introduction. They turned out to be in some classes together, joked around. They got along. It wasn’t like Jasper hadn’t ever been at Finn’s house, it was just that he hadn’t been in this particular house, the one of Finn’s father, with less valuables than his mother’s house had, where he usually resided. It was weird, as if he got to know Finn all over again. Entering the house Jasper immediately notices the furniture pushed aside. After that, he notices the photos lining the wall, with both Finn and his mother in it. The walls of the small corridor are painted some weird orange-yellow, which so horrible it almost looks fun. There’s a pile of coats near the staircase, and Jasper contemplates laying his hoodie on top of it, but then decides against it. Rolling up his sleeves he enters the living room.  
  
“Jasper!” he is greeted enthusiastically by Octavia, who hugs him tightly, as she normally does. He is reminded of the last music classes, which just were jam sessions in school hours. Honestly, she’s always been a better drummer than him, but Jasper doesn’t really care. It’s good fun.

 

Light bounces off the ceiling, and Jasper can feel the world turning upside down. It twists and twists and twists. He stretches out a hand and turns around. They’re a whirlwind of motion, drifting to a beat which bounces through the room, to a bass which thrums in their veins. When there’s a bottle passed around Jasper takes a swig, the liquid burning in his throat. He has had better tasting drinks before, but at least he knows it’s working- the best alcohol tastes the worst. Bodies are moving, voices thundering. Jasper gets himself lost at sea, waves of sound crashing over him, backs wet, always in motion. Harper twirls him around and laughs, loud and unabashed.She swings her hips in time with the music, and in a way it’s enchanting. Jasper grins at her, busts a few moves, dances until his feet are numb and his throat is dry. On and on and on and on, the party goes but his thoughts don’t. He shifts, slowly backing away from Harper, who has now found Monroe to dance with her. There’s a table that catches his eye, decorated with bowls full of food, which probably means there’s someone near it with a liquor of sorts. The sea of bodies parts for Jasper as he readjusts his goggles, not entirely dancing, but in no way not not. His eyes start scanning the room, feeling like he’s missing someone. Well, he’s always missing Monty, but in this case- he’d thought he’d be here. He should be here.

“Looking for someone?” Finn nods his head in recognition, flask in his hand. Jasper looks at him for a second before taking his flask to drink from. He swallows the bitter liquor and flashes a smile.  
  
“Maybe I’ve already found them,” Jasper tilts his head just the tiniest bit. Finn laughs, a deep-belly sound which resonates through his whole body. He smirks at Jasper.  
  
“I’m not the one you’re looking for,” he notes, tone amused. Jasper shrugs.  
  
“Not really looking for anyone,” he lies. Finn raises his eyebrows and hands him the flask.  
  
“Take it,” he says, “you need company.”  
  
“A flask isn’t good company,” Jasper retorts, but Finn is already turning away, being engulfed by the crowd. Jasper follows his movements, sees him dance with Raven. He takes another look around the room, and then another swig. He must look like an idiot, standing there alone, smiling. He doesn’t really care, not at the moment. The crowd keeps moving, dancing, laughing, pulsing. Jasper closes his eyes and drowns in the noise. When he opens them again, he’s looking into a familiar pair.

 

“Let’s go,” someone says, and Jasper doesn’t really know who says it, but it’s a few hours later and it sounds like Monty, so it sounds like a good idea. He makes his way around the room, hugs Octavia and Harper and Clarke and Monroe and Finn and Raven goodbye, before being pulled aside by Monty. His world spins, and Jasper grins. He’s always loved those rides on the fair which spin around, things they normally call ‘the Tornado’ or ‘Booster’ or whatever. Monty’s always more been the rollercoaster type of guy.   
  
“Bye!” Jasper yells one last time. The music is too loud. There’s a flask in his pocket that feels both heavy and light. The room slowly changes in front of his eyes, morphs the walls into something they’re not, change back. Jasper breathes, nostrils flaring.  
  
“I need some air,” he says, at the same time Monty says, “I really need some fresh air.”  
  
They look at each other, then stumble across the threshold. Monty is humming a song Jasper only knows in the far back of his mind. He fumbles for the keys of his bike, hands shaking, balance constantly shifting. He starts to laugh. Monty joins in from across the yard, and all Jasper can think is ‘I can’t even stand up straight’ and then he just laughs again, because him being straight is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever thought. As he unlocks his bike he keeps grinning, softly snickering. Monty walks -stumbles- up to him. There’s a mischievous gleam in his eye, one that Jasper does not even question anymore. He knows he’ll just roll with it; it’s a guarantee for a good time.  
  
“You ready?” Monty asks, slinging his leg over the frame.  
  
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Jasper answers, getting on his bike. They make it out the front yard unscathed.

“Where we going?” Jasper asks. He vaguely recognizes the houses flashing by, the rows of white picket fences and the different colours of the front doors.   
  
“Where I’m taking you,” Monty answers, snickering, “just follow me.”

“Sure can do, Capt’n,” Jasper grins as he follows Monty through the streets. It feels like time stops passing. On and on the streets go, dimly lit by the feverish yellow light of the lampposts. It’s good it’s the middle of the night, that this is a calm part of the neighbourhood. Monty starts swerving, causing Jasper to almost hit him. Monty sends a big grin Jasper’s way, just before using the breaks on his bike. He jumps off his bike, which he throws to the side, and continues to jump a fence. Jasper gets off his bike, swings his leg across the fence, then gets stuck wondering how he will get the other one on the other side without falling over.  
  
“You’re being slow, slowpoke!” Monty yells from a distance. Jasper struggles but manages to get to the other side.  
  
“Nice insult,” Jasper replies as he lands on his feet. He only then takes the time to take in his surroundings. A small field framed with trees and streetlights, some path lined with rocks. There’s a swing set, a seesaw, a slide. A playground.  
Not just any playground. The one Jasper played on during his childhood. The one he took Monty to after they met. There’s some goalposts and a climbing frame too.

“You like it?”  
  
“I like your brain,” Jasper tells Monty earnestly as he walks up to his best friend. “I’ll show you how I swing.”  
  
“Which is?” Monty asks, barely keeping in his laughter.  
  
“Both ways,” Jasper grins as he goes to sit on one of the swings. Monty starts laughing, until a tear runs down his face and Jasper is gasping, clutching his own stomach. Monty sits down, hiccuping.  
  
“You- you- swing both-,” he wheezes. Jasper gives up any hope of swinging, just tries to get some air.  
  
“Get it, because I’m- I’m- bi-,” he breathes, then bursts out laughing again. He leans forward, barely keeping his balance.  
  
“That’s hilarious,” Monty tells him when he is able to breathe again. He stumbles upright, pulls Jasper off the swing set. “Come on, I know a place.”  
  
“You know places?”  
  
“Don’t be a dick.”  
  
“I’m no Richard,” Jasper stifles. He ignores the flutter in his stomach as Monty pulls on his hand, tells himself it’s the alcohol.  
  
“Come on,” Monty says, pulling Jaspers arm once more. Jasper stumbles, losing balance quickly. Before he knows it the ground is moving towards his face. He waves his arms in a faint attempt to save himself, but it’s in vain. The only thing he accomplishes is that now Monty is going down with him, letting out a yelp before hitting the ground, Jasper laying atop of him.

  
“My saviour,” Jasper’s voice croaks. His smile is crooked. There’s a pair of arms around him which he gladly accepts. They move back for a moment, before Jasper offers the flask to Monty. Surely he must want something to drink. “Where have you been?” Jasper asks as Monty drinks. Handing back the flask Monty answers, “slaying dragons”.   
  
“A true hero then.” Jasper pretends to swoon. Monty giggles, his cheeks red. Jasper tries not to notice how the light is reflected in his eyes, the warm colour they have. He fails. “Have you come to save me?”  
  
“Do you need saving?” Monty raises an eyebrow, responding just loud enough for Jasper to hear. Jasper scans his face, but his state does not allow the best analysis. He looks Monty in the eye.  
  
“Lead the way.”  
  
Monty grabs his hand, pushing through the mass of bodies, exiting the room. Jasper almost trips over the metal doorstep. His palms are clammy, but Monty doesn’t seem to mind. Outside the room there’s only more room to hear the echo of his heartbeat, erratically pumping in his chest. The world feels tame, but they are wild, and it’s the most free Jasper’s ever felt on this goddamn spaceship.  
  
“Here,” Monty lets go off Jasper’s hand, but only for a second. “How far do you want to get away?”

“How far can you take me?” Jasper asks, but even in his drunken state, he already knows the answer. There’s a secret they share and will be sharing again. 

 

“I will take you anywhere,” says Monty, softly pushing Jasper aside, then extending his arm. Jasper takes his hand ones again, twirls around.  
  
“We should dance,” he says, a smile wavering on his face. Their hands feel like electricity. There’s a _zing_ in his heart as he twirls back, mimicking the dance shows his mother so used to love.  
  
“To what music?” Monty asks, catching Jasper, stopping his momentum.  
  
“The music of our hearts,” Jasper says lightly, grin spreading. Monty snorts.  
  
“Then I propose a dance battle,” he says, shaking his head. Jasper pouts, looking slightly disappointed. He starts walking, then skipping.  
  
“No thank you, mister,” he answers. “Come on, take me to your anywhere.”

“Just a few steps,” Monty says, not letting go of Jasper’s hands. Jasper frowns.  
  
“That’s where we came from.” Monty just shrugs, walks up to his bike.  
  
“Come on,” he says, sending Jasper a small smile, batting his eyelashes. Jasper sighs, releasing Monty’s hand as he takes up his own bike. There’s a warmth that’s immediately lost, one Monty instantly misses. As he swings his leg across his bike, his world starts to swing too. He doesn’t care. They just need to make it to his anywhere. They pedal the streets again, sometimes hear the noises of the nightly traffic. Shadows cross and crawl, move and move and move. Monty takes a deep breath, the air fresh, and he feels vividly alive. They’re close.  
  
“Come on,” he says, climbing the tree. There’s a platform up there, with an exquisite treehouse built. He used to come here all the time as a kid. They’re pretty far removed from their neighbourhoods, but Monty doesn’t mind. He loves coming here. He watches as Jasper struggles to get up to the platform, how he hits his leg multiple times and just starts laughing about his own clumsiness. Monty smiles fondly.

“Made it!” Jasper calls out triumphantly, panting. Monty watches for a moment before pulling out his iPod. Jasper squints.  
  
“So you do have music,” he says. Monty doesn’t say anything, just hands him one of the earbuds, which he puts in. There’s a slow hum of a song made decades ago, and then there’s not. It’s a song he’s not yet familiar with. Monty frowns, looking at his iPod. It tells him ‘Kill Your Heroes’ by Awolnation is playing. He doesn’t remember putting the song on his iPod, but he does remember Harper, remembers sitting in a room much like a tin can, remembers Jasper passing out drinks while fists knocked on a door and him standing on the other side. He remembers this song playing at that exact same moment, and he immediately prefers the moment he is in now above the other. He watches, looks at the moonlight surrounding Jasper. His heart is pounding, and this time he knows it’s not the alcohol. It’s never been the alcohol.

Jasper faintly sways his hips, makes a few weird arm movements, then takes Monty’s hands and starts to dance with him. _Dancing_ might not be the right word. They are just moving, somewhat stiffly, to the beat. It’s still enjoyable. They share a smile before the song ends, before their hands stop touching once again, before they are leaning on the railing surrounding the platform and looking at the stars.  
  
“I used to come here,” Monty muses. Jasper hums.  
  
“You never took me here,” he says.  
  
“I never thought about it,” Monty shrugs. He hasn’t been here in years. There are other places he and Jasper hang out. “But you’re here now.”  
  
“Yeah,” Jasper replies softly, “We’re here now.”

He can sense Monty turning toward him. There’s a hitch in their breaths as they behold, the music faded into the background, woven into the dark night sky. They are standing awfully, wonderfully close, and they both know it. They could be standing closer. They should be standing closer.  


There’s a moment in which Jasper holds his breath and Monty closes his eyes. They don’t count the heartbeats that pass in the time that freezes, but it feels like both a blink and eternity. 

Kissing would be a good idea, right? Monty doesn’t think there’s any indications telling him it’s a bad idea. And if there were, he wouldn’t notice them. The alcohol thrums through his veins, make the tops of his fingers tingle. A good idea, he thinks, _definitely_ a good idea.  
He presses his lips to Jasper’s. There’s this tickle of Jasper’s breath against his lips before they connect, before it’s really happening, before they’re really kissing. It’s tentative, it’s soft. It makes the world disappear and another appear. They can feel their beats multiply. Another year, place, time, date, but always these lips, always those hands on his neck, always these hearts. A beat, and another. A kiss, then another.

 

Monty grabs Jasper’s hand again, pulling him across the threshold, closing the door behind them. There’s a wicked smile spreading across Monty’s face, and Jasper’s pulled towards it. There’s a softer light coming from the darkness outside, contrasting with the harsh TL-lights from before. Monty’s cheeks seem warm, but not as warm as Jasper’s neck feels, and he takes another sip, and then another swig, and Monty does the same. There’s a lot going on in their heads, but none of it is really important.   
  
To Jasper, it is all background noise to his heartbeat, erratic and wild. He sees Monty lick his lips, his eyes skipping over his face, feels Monty’s gaze on him. He returns the favor. Monty hasn’t even made himself ready to move like he normally would, lulled by the melodies of the party going on walls away, enthralled by the way the moonlight gleams on Jasper’s skin. He sighs. Jasper takes a step forward, and Monty one backwards. The silence would be weird if they both weren’t lost in their own heads, filled with wonder. It is Jasper who takes the last step, pushing Monty against the one metal wall in starboard window bay, but it is Monty who closes the gap. They crash, awkwardly, faces mashed together, uncomfortable at first. Jasper can’t help but laugh at their clumsiness. He feels Monty smile against his lips, and this might be the best idea Monty’s ever had.  
  
He pushes their lips together again, more careful this time, no noses bumping, eyes closed. Monty responds happily, pulling Jasper closer. Jasper’s breath hitches as he feels Monty’s fingers dance upon his skin, touch ever so lightly. His own hands move up Monty’s shoulder, his neck, towards the nape and his jaw, fingers tangled in his hair. Upon feeling Jasper’s fingers touching his jaw, Monty tilts his head upwards, bearing the skin. Jasper is confused, only for a slight moment, at the loss of contact between their lips, before he gets the hint. He licks his lips before they ghost over Monty’s neck, before he presses a trail of fragile kisses down it towards his collarbone. He feels -hears- Monty softly sigh, and there’s a lull in his stomach, a feeling he can’t quite place. Monty tilts his head back, presses a kiss to Jasper’s lips before kissing his jaw. Jasper shivers. This feeling- this feeling is new. Not necessarily _wrong,_ but something to be reckoned with. There’s something- something-

 

A door opening and closing. Jasper think he might hear some yelling. The wood creaks beneath their bodies, and suddenly he wonders if the wood is going to hold. Monty doesn’t really seem to want to stop, but there he is, taking a deep breath, cheeks red. His eyes wander Jasper’s face. There’s a slight of worry as he takes in the look on the face of his best friend.

“We should go,” Jasper says, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Monty nods, dazed. It’s probably late. His parents might worry.  
  
“Come home with me?” he asks, more on an impulse. Their parent’s won’t mind, knowing each other, knowing how well they know each other. They know their children. If they listen closely, they can hear birds chirping. It’s late.

It’s early. Jasper merely nods as answer, pulling away slowly. He wants to linger, make this moment last longer, but they can’t. In his drunken state he barely remembers the flashes, but remembers the feelings. There’s this pressing feeling that this was meant to be, and then there’s the feeling he is absolutely out of his freaking mind. The world seems to be getting louder. He knows he’s right. They have to go home. 

Getting out of the tree turns out to be a lot simpler than climbing it. Even if it is by falling out it for the last part, even if it involves a lot of stumbling. Their bikes roar against the weight of their worlds, but they do what they have to do: they take them home. When they’re inside and Monty’s making smoothies, Jasper sends his parents a text telling about his whereabouts, something that takes longer than anticipated. Jasper takes one of the two tall glasses, downs half of the smoothie in one go, lets out a low moan in approval. Monty starts coughing, goes against saying something he might regret. He doesn’t memorize the sound, at all. They’re shivering by the time they finish it, but are content nonetheless. Jasper stifles a yawn.  
  
“Can I borrow a shirt?” Jasper asks, standing in the middle of Monty’s room. It doesn’t seem different from other days, but it feels worlds away. The walls all but loom, their blue-ish gray dark in the light, all familiar. Jasper doesn’t bother asking where he’ll sleep, because he knows Monty will tell him.  
  
“Sure,” Monty says, passing along a shirt as he takes a pillow out of the wardrobe. Jasper barely catches it, but still grins. They move around, dancing around each other, until they both are as ready as they’ll be facing each other, going to bed. They share the same bed, like they’ve done before, but unlike they’ve done before, they lie closer to each other. Monty easily stretches out his hand, caressing the bare skin above Jasper’s collarbone. Jasper lets him. He feels his heart rate go up again, but he doesn’t mind. It somehow feels right. He lies there, waiting, wanting to turn around, to feel the warmth of Monty’s body against his shivering cold skin, wants to close his eyes with the lingering feeling of an arm wrapped around his waist. He gingerly presses the lightest touch to Monty’s neck, presses a kiss to his nose. Monty does the same. Jasper smiles softly before he turns around, snuggling closer. Monty buries his nose into his neck, makes the skin tingle as he softly presses a line of kisses onto it. There’s a million ways Jasper could get used to this, and prays he never will. It must be a privilege to feel this again and again, to never let this closeness get old. It’s a tenderness he doesn’t want to let go off.

 

He forgets whatever he was thinking as Monty’s lips connect with a spot just below his jaw he didn’t know was sensitive before. He can feel Monty smile, surprised by the probably audible reaction Jasper’s just produced. Their lips connect once again before they come apart, Monty still leaning against the wall, Jasper leaning against Monty. Jasper relaxes his hands at the base of Monty’s neck, as Monty’s rest on his hips. Their foreheads touch. Jasper can’t shake the feeling he’s forgetting something, that there’s something he’s supposed to know. He’s unable to describe the ease he feels, nor is he sure he wants to. There’s just something pulling inside him, like someone pulling at his sleeve, a tug at his stomach. A familiarity he shouldn’t be able to feel, yet still does.  
  
Jasper focuses on their chests rising together. His eyes are still closed. He feels the soft press of Monty’s lips at the corner of his mouth and opens his eyes when it’s gone. The brown eyes looking at him are all he’s ever known. For a moment, the ship falls away, and he’s just there, Monty opposite of him, hair brushed, fresh cologne. The henley he’s wearing is slightly rumpled, the paint on the wall chipped away. Monty looks disheveled. Jasper feels his lips swollen, the alcohol pumping through his veins, the slightly victorious feeling. There’s whooping around them. They are alone.

 

Jasper wakes in a stranger’s bed. The room’s all metal and his head is all lead. He doesn’t get why he’s at the bottom bunk of a bunk bed. He blinks and the walls are concrete, his blanket’s a screaming orange, there’s no sun. He wakes up, and then he wakes again. What war is going on? He doesn’t know. Jasper’s not sure he wants to know. Better yet, he’s sure he doesn’t want to know. He can hear a scream he doesn’t recognize but still registers, one that pierces his eardrums. When he walks towards the door he’s surrounded by faces only familiar from one social event or another. Some become more clear the further he walks, the closer to the door he gets. He tries to pry the door open, but he doesn’t succeed.   
  
“I can fix that,” Monty says, appearing next to him. Jasper blinks, and they’re at the other side of the door, in another room, one with a lot of furniture and even more decoration. It appears to be luxurious. Wooden chairs are stacked upon each other, forming a barricade of wardrobes and scrapwood and everything they can find. Jasper’s not sure if the images match but knows something important is happening. Monty breaks open the door, and Jasper hears himself say “that’s my boy” and vaguely wonders, but does not remember what he wonders. His head gets all tangled. There’s a hospital bed now, he’s in a hospital bed, and it’s all for a noble cause. He’s donating blood.

The machines hooked to his body make a noise he doesn’t like.

“Jasper,” he hears, and it’s all in his head. He shakes it. No. This isn’t happening. This is true. 

They walk the corridor of this bunker and he breathes. 

He’s in English class.

“Jordan, Jasper,” Jaha calls out, and the weirdest feeling dawns on Jasper. He’s here. He’s in the classroom he’s always in whenever he has English. He just walked the hall, but the hall looked like a corridor he didn’t know at all. But he knew the place. There was a place he knew but couldn’t remember. Maybe he’s lucid. Maybe he has a fever. Maybe he’s just out of his mind.   
  
“Jasper,” he says, as soon as he’s found his voice again. “It’s Jasper Jordan, sir.”  
There’s a look on the man’s face he knows. He looks at Monty, who has the same look of recognition on his face. It’s their first week of university.  
  
“Did he do introductions, or something?” Jasper whispers, because surely Monty would know.  
  
“I don’t think so,” Monty says with a frown. “But I know his face. Maybe we’ve seen him around?” He doesn’t sound too convinced when he says it. But they both can’t shake the feeling, and it’s the only logical option. So they decide that that must be it, discard the dreams they dream at night in which he’s someone called councillor, discard the words he says in those dreams as fiction, made up by their minds. They do not tell each other about the dreams because they do not seem important.

 

“Bellamy,” the name echoes. In a breath, Jasper sees the familiar man in another setting, something what must’ve been earth had it not been destroyed by bombs. There’s neat walls with posters on them, ones with images of the books Bellamy told about. Something about the Odyssee, something about Monty’s favourite book, the Catcher in the Rye, something about Dr. Seuss. And there’s a hint of jealousy that Jasper’s not there, but Bellamy has been- a world without destruction. Is this what his life could’ve been?   
  
“Bellamy?”  
  
“Shut up and listen,” it’s almost a hiss, “next time they’re coming you’re gonna have to fight back harder than this, do you understand?”  
Jasper doesn’t, but he isn’t in the position to admit that.  
  
“Here, take this.”  
  
The metal is cool in his hands. He wonders how long they can keep this up, if the Mount Weather guards won’t grow weary. Can’t they see there’s a interloper in their midst? Jasper prays they do not. He shakes the images of the white walls and is reminded that that isn’t _their_ world.  
  
“Get ready,” Bellamy instructs.  
  
“Ready for what, what’s the plan?”  
  
“I’m working on it.”  
  
They’re still in this position, Bellamy holding Jasper’s arm behind his back, still pretending to arrest him, or take him, or whatever it is that they’re supposed to be doing. Jasper feels he needs to do something. He knows this place, Bellamy- Bellamy knows it in a different way.  
  
“Find Dante,” Jasper says, “he’ll let you pass.” Another guard starts shouting, and the next thing Jasper knows a fist connects with his stomach. As he drops to the floor there’s a cry, a scream. In between two guards, a girl is taken away. Bellamy doesn’t look back.

 

Jasper always sees the beauty in the world, and Monty doesn’t know how, but he still does. There’s a world of horror at the edge of his fingertips, but the words that leave his lips tell Monty that it’s tragically, desperately beautiful. Monty worries. Monty worries and worries and worries. As his dreams become more vivid, Jasper grows more quiet. He’s holding something back, but Monty can’t sense _what_. He just senses that he is falling. The beauty Jasper sees in the world, Monty sees in Jasper.  


  
The amount of freckles on hisface are the right amount. The same amount. They all remember.  
  
“Hi,” the freckle-faced boy -man- says at the second lecture. “I’m Bellamy Blake. I’ll be an Assistant Teacher this semester. This means I’ll be teaching a seminar every week, and will give a hand with a few lectures every now and so often.”  
  
Neither Jasper nor Monty catch what he says next. Both are hauled back to another time and place. Monty sees him standing in front of a group larger than this class. He’s shouting something Monty can’t bother to memorize because there are more pressing matters. There’s this surge of panic, and then it switches. The sight is gone as fast as it came. He feels slightly nauseous. They are in a bunker of sorts, just him, Bellamy and the blonde girl he has met a few weeks ago, Clarke. Jasper’s hauled away, he can see on security footage. There is a moment they share. He meets Bellamy’s eyes.  
  
There’s a spark of recognition, and he knows. Bellamy has dreamt of other lifetimes, but never before have they crossed paths. He smiles at the two before letting his eyes skid across the classroom. He ignores the pounding of his heart.

“The first exercise is a simple one, but requires some creativity,” Bellamy says, a calm look on his face. “For next week, I want a 500-1000 word essay on what the world would be like if the bombs had dropped. What would the world look like after World War III?”

Jasper can swear that Bellamy’s looking at him and Monty. There’s an anxious and excited clutter of whispers making its way around the classroom. People are wondering _how_ they should be able to see a world in ashes, but Jasper’s already seen it. He’s lived it. He looks at Monty, who looks at him at the same time. A small smile makes its way across Monty’s face. His mouth goes dry.  
  
“You’re in luck,” he whispers, nodding to the notebook on Jasper’s desk. His fingers tap it softly. Jasper follows the movement, sighs.  
  
“I guess I am,” he frowns. He starts looking through it. Monty stares at it blankly, as if to see something that isn’t there. With a shake of his head he focusses on his own notebook, starts to make a bullet-point list. Jasper can’t read what he’s jotting down, but his face is scrunched up in concentration, as often happens. Jasper is still somehow mesmerized by the sight. He spends the next minute just looking at Monty, can imagine him in another world, rain tapping on the windows. Something about a water tank, or an electricity generator, something with water that can explode easily. He doesn’t remember the details, just the genius and his undying love for him. He moves his gaze towards Bellamy, who looks awfully familiar. He can’t remember why, but it unsettles him. There’s something he’s supposed to be remembering.

 

Eating the pie is like coming home. It tastes as if he has known it all his life. Maybe he has. Maybe there’s a time in which the bombs hadn’t dropped, where they saved earth and where Monty is living in a suburban family home. Maybe there’s a time in which he has a brother or a sister, or a cat or a guinea pig or a dog. Maybe. Monty can imagine that in that time he would be eating this pie regularly, that this pie would be his favourite. If he could choose right now, he’d be eating this for the rest of this life.  
  
“You have to try this pie,” Jasper says, moving his plate. As Monty moves his fork, the backdrop shifts. There’s a brick wall, light pouring through a window. They’re almost alone, not much people around them. Their legs are touching under table. Monty wonders what it means.  
  
“Oh my god, what is that?” he half moans around the bite. Jaspers cheeks flush slightly.  
  
“I don’t know, but it’s great” Jasper shrugs, already moving his fork. His green button-up moves around his shoulders.“My turn.”  
  
Monty quickly looks at his plate, starts to shake his head.  
  
“What, this? Nah. You won’t like it, the pie is way better.”

Jasper still tries to get a bite, so Monty moves his plate back quickly. Jasper slowly starts to nod is head.  
  
“Oh, okay,” he smiles as he rises. Monty mirrors the movement. They move around, playfully so, until Clarke enters the dining hall. With a quick smile they sit down again. Clarke greets them.  
  
“You have to try this chocolate cake,” Monty says, offering his plate to Clarke just to rile Jasper up, who shakes his head in fake disappointment.  
“Oh, it’s so on.”

 

“Mom made this for you,” Monty hands Jasper a plastic container. “Says you’re looking pale. I think she worries about you.”  
Jasper frowns, accepting the container.  
  
“I just haven’t been sleeping well,” he then shrugs, trying to act casual. “Keep thinking about the essay.” It comes out barely audible. Monty bumps his shoulder kindly.  
  
“Tell me about it,” he says, yawning. “Want to read what I got?”  
  
“Sure,” Jasper says, stops, then looks out the window. He gives Monty a look. Wordlessly they turn to go outside. The sun’s shining. They walk towards the bleachers, where they know they can sit without being disturbed or disrupted. “How long before class?”  
  
“About an hour,” Monty answers. Sitting down he gets out his laptop, opens the document in which he has written his assignment. Jasper takes it, takes it in. His eyes scan the text.

He grows pale.  
  
“Are you okay?” Monty says, frowning. He moves to lay his hand on his best friend’s shoulder. Jasper grows still. Monty can see his hand trembling, shaking ever so slightly above the keyboard. His stare is blank.  
  
“Jasper?” Monty asks, worried. He shakes his friend. “Jas?”  
  
There’s a shaky exhale, and then Jasper’s whole body starts shaking. Monty moves Jasper’s hands, arms, closes his laptop, puts it away. He holds Jasper tight, embraces him, until he isn’t shaking as badly. When he loosens the embrace, Jasper turns to look at Monty, eyes wet. Monty doesn’t question what has happened.

“R-read this,” Jasper breathes shakily when his body has calmed down, pushing his notebook towards Monty. He can see Monty scanning the text, the tinge of recognition in a look on his face. He feels his stomach churn.

 

They know the world is ending. Jasper has seen it many times. A world ended when they blew up the Dropship. A world ended when they blew up Mount Weather. There’s an ache in his heart from every death he’s seen, one time or another. Time stretches and crawls, and then there’s this solution which isn’t really a solution. Well, according to chemistry alcohol _is_ a solution. It certainly is Jasper’s. But there’s pills too, chips. Things he sees that messes with minds.  
And he wants it. He wants it bad.  
Because the world is ending, and the world is bad, and they all will be dead, and it would be easier to forget. But in a way, he doesn’t want to forget _this_. Not the present- just the _past_. A part of him wishes to escape the grief left by Maya’s death, a hole which he is not sure will ever heal. He sometimes wishes he could forget the fight he had with Monty, things he said or did that do not feel like him. Sometimes alcohol does that for him. Sometimes, it does not. Sometimes he feels so distant from his body that he is not sure it’s him inhabiting it anymore. He then wakes in a brightly painted room with all sorts of drawings and paintings, or in a school bench in a hot and sunny state, in a field of grass and daisies with a sketchbook in his lap. All the images are the same. It’s their world ending.

There is a world in which they are happy. It’s not theirs.  
Jasper wants to forget the _past_.  
With a tremble in his hands he let his finger rest on the trigger. The pills didn’t work. They destroyed yet another possibility. Yet a lever was pulled, and another ache was added. He might be only ache now. He feels like he is being pulled apart, that somebody is playing with his wiring. Another misplaced memory. Another flash of a happiness he will never have. He sees how it could’ve been. He sees how it is. It does not compare. It does not add up.  
Monty walks the hallways, knowing Jasper’s somewhere out there, repressing the memories and the dreams and the ominous feeling. It’s all gonna end.

“Jasper?” He knocks on the door.  
  
“Jasper-“

 

“It’s exactly- it’s almost-,” Monty gasps. His eyes skip over the text again. He dreamt it. Jasper wrote it.

He breathes in, closes his eyes. There’s a fire burning somewhere but he’s not sure where. He can hear a music box and wardrums. Rain falls in thick drops on metal. There’s screaming. Jasper’s out there, in the rain. Alarmingly, Jasper’s out _there_.

Jasper’s out here.  
  
Monty opens his eyes, nostrils flaring. His heart is about to beat out of his chest. The faint memory of a note with his name written in Jasper’s hand on it lingers in the back of his mind, an anxiety coming along with it. There’s a slight tremble in his hands. Tentatively Jasper grabs them, careful. He rubs his thumb along the back of Monty’s hand. He knows what he’s been thinking about.  
  
“You were going to pull the trigger,” Monty says, and two different Jaspers look at him.

“The gun you laid down on the table after we told you we only had four months left- you- you were-,” Monty chokes on his words.   
  
“I watched the sunrise,” Jasper says calmly. His voice sounds carefully devoid of any emotion.  
  
“That hollow laugh- it was-,” Monty breathes, “because it didn’t matter anymore. You were pulled back into reality to hear it was ending.”  
The silence that follows is deafening. There’s no denial, no harsh words, no disagreement. Jasper swallows, moving his thumb carefully over the skin of a shaking Monty. He looks at the boy and sees him in all his glory, sunlight catching his eyes, a neon-light gleam reflected on his skin, LED-light illuminating his hair. His hoodie is faded and worn yet freshly washed. There are bruises from all kind of events. A silent hum in the air as the ground beneath his feet shifts a little further. It all comes together. Jasper doesn’t know if he’s lucid, if there’s something in the air or in his head, if he’s dying or if there’s a gas leakage somewhere aboard what’s left of this ship. He’s not sure if he cares.

Monty doesn’t.

 

“In another lifetime, I watched you die.”  
  
There’s a silence between them. Monty tries to process the information, tries to fathom the words that came out of his mouth. He looks at Jasper, who’s always looked familiar, who’s always felt familiar. He sees the bags under his eyes. They have been tired for a long time.  
Jasper looks at his hands, the hands Monty knows have little scars from ages ago.  
  
“In another lifetime, I loved you.”  
  
Monty looks up, metal pressed against his back. The words did not leave Jasper’s mouth, he’s sure. A moment ago, he was sitting on bleachers, sunlight warm on his face. The orange sky should be alarming, but it really isn’t by now. Just another day on earth. Monty wraps his arms around Jasper, who starts to shake ever so slightly. His skin is warm.  
  
“I love you,” he murmurs into the skin of his neck. “I love you,” Monty repeats, feeling the pull of his world shifting. He holds on tighter. He tells it to the boy on the bleachers. He tells it to the boy lying in his arms. Jasper shivers.  
  
“Me too,” he answers, voice steady despite his shaking limbs. He looks at Monty, everlasting Monty, makes sure he hears it, the boy in the spacecraft, and the boy on the bleachers. “I love you.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope it wasn't too confusing and that you all enjoyed this. If you have any thoughts, tips, or whatever you want to say, leave it in the comments!


End file.
